


Stay With Me

by dmdiane



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, F/M, Nallen, One Shot, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmdiane/pseuds/dmdiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Tag: E6:12 Spiral ...</p><p>She’s seen him hit by a car, rolled from a car, shot, kicked… and she’s watching him die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me

Glass shatters at Callen’s feet, a mixture of resignation and regret crosses his features, he turns and leans on the emergency shutdown lever, bringing the doors shut and sealing the air vents. In response to lingering mist rising beneath him, he coughs. His hand comes away bloodied. The tablet slips from Nell’s fingers and clatters to the workstation. Air stops moving into her lungs. A sensation like ice water drops through her body, liquid fear. Far from rejecting what she sees, her brain catalogues every second.

She’s seen him hit by a car, rolled from a car, shot, kicked… and she’s watching him die. There’s rushing in her ears. He sits on his heels, back to the cabinets, looking at his hands. His shoulders convulse inward. Dear god, she unconsciously steps toward the plasma screen. He’s alone. He folds, curls forward, lies on the tiles, blood on his lips and the back of his hand, eyes closed. She takes her phone from her pocket and taps.

He fumbles his phone into view, the corner of his mouth lifts. “Nell?”

“G.” She says. His shoulders shake with the effort not to cough. “I got you. Help’s on the way. I’ve got you. There’s a camera in the ceiling, at your four o’clock. I see you. I won’t look away. I’ve got you.”

He puts the call on speaker, sets the phone down and cradles his head with both hands. “Hurts.”

“Yep.” She says. “With more hurting to come. But, stay with me. Okay?”

“Wish I could.” He mumbles. She reads tension in his body, coiled on the floor as if he can hold the virus at bay through sheer power of will. He shakes his head, his expression unspeakably sad.

It clearly hurts him to talk, so Nell talks. She slips into Russian, repeating she's there and sees him, then describing the beach as she saw it this morning, the sun rising behind her while she ran, finally touching the ocean while the tide retreated. The satisfying rhythmic crunch of sand underfoot, punctuated with gulls hawking the shore, sandpipers chatting.

His breathing slows. Nell talks until the door opens to five figures in full on hazmat protection. For long moments she can’t see more than his feet, or a hand. None of him moves, no response. The medical team suits him and the last she sees of him is a glimpse of his sleeping face.

Her chin drops to her chest, tears drip onto her dress. She also shaking, her phone slips away. She sighs, tries to breathe some sense back into her head. He’s going to die in an isolation chamber somewhere without knowing she thinks he’s beautiful.

“What can I do for you?” Eric. Beside her with a glass of water. He knows, of course. She lifts a shoulder. “Do me a favor then and sit down.” He pulls the chair to her. She drops into it, feeling like a bowl of jello. This won’t do. She can’t be incapacitated this way. Must gather herself. Eric taps on her hand and gives her the glass. “Drink.” She obeys, the process of swallowing reassures and calms, her nose tingles. She shakes her head, blinks. Eric’s sky blue eyes are in her face, inches away. “Coming back?” He asks.

“Shit.” She says.

He smiles. “Well, that’s better.” He leans back in his chair. “They are in transit to the CDC, Hetty’s with him. The guys are heading back here. Are you paying attention?" He waits for her gaze to tighten on him. "There is a treatment. So, unbeknownst to our terrorists, they developed an antidote. He's gonna be very sick for awhile, but he'll be okay." His voice is slow and clear, hoping she's grasping what he's saying.

Eric observes his partner become a puddle in the chair with some surprise. Nell is his best friend, and possibly the strongest woman he's ever met. Even in the face of her growing infatuation with Callen, she's been calm as toast. It occurs to him this thing they've been joking about for months isn't infatuation. The girl hurts. "Nell." She lifts her eyes to his. "Nell, you might have to do something about that." He expects her to fuss or refute, so when she nods slowly he's left to swivel in back to work

~o~

Nell Jones has a love hate relationship with her current life. She's exceptional at her job, and it's both meaningful and fun. Her meditation practice led her to the Westside Shambhala Center, where she finds peace and friendship. She finally found an apartment she adores. It's small and funky and fits her eclectic style perfectly.Yet, she longs for undercover work. And, she hates having to keep nearly everything about life secret from nearly everyone. She can't have real friends who don't know her, or anything about her life. She hates lying to her family about what she does, how her days unfold. What seemed intriguing and sophisticated five years ago, now feels disingenuous and distancing.

She savors every day, keeps her equanimity in tact and works her ass off. Amidst long heart to hearts with Hetty about the clash between her basic honesty and her career aspirations, Nell works on honing her skills with martial arts and firearms. She runs on the beach and through the park. She lifts weights and does countless sit ups of a wide variety. She reads in Spanish, Russian and Arabic. She phones home every Sunday evening.

Marty Deeks and Eric Beale are her best friends by default, not having to hide anything from either of them, she's appreciative of their humor and smarts. She surfs with Marty several times a week. She and Eric have movie marathons, and he's her de facto date to any event they share an interest in from the museum to comic con. Lately, they've spent long evenings talking about how their dependence on each other in social situations makes it impossible for either of them to find a guy. Most people assume they're together. Talking about it hasn't changed anything, though, at least not yet. Erice came home with her for the holidays and her family adored him. Her mom asked one afternoon if they were serious. Nell almost hated breaking it to her Eric's gay, not interested in her. While they are seriously friends, he's so not her type.

Despite the various contradictions in her current life, Nell knows she can find her way. She always has. At least that's what she thought until two months ago. Callen's run in with the IRA and the resulting disaster in the contagious disease lab had a singularly unsettling effect. She's had a crush on him for an age. But, it never occurred to her there was anything real there. He's gorgeous and all rogue cowboyish - a definite weakness - but, he's not interested. He's in fact dating someone else. Someone not even remotely Nell-like. The agony of fearing for him, and watching him subside on the floor alone, surely was... well, with Eric's not so subtle recountings of it, she can't really fool herself into thinking her reaction was normal empathy. Not that she has seen Lead Special Agent G Callen since then. She hasn't. She's attended to all the reports of his recovery. Apparently, he's camping at the Hanna's. But, she's not asking.

Day in and day out Nell lives her perfect life, while working towards another life entirely. Love hate. Her confidence one day she'll be a field agent, with a lover and a family - hell, Sam did it - remains unshakeable.

~o~

A month in the hospital and a second month on the Hanna's couch has left G Callen out of shape and bored beyond reason. The virus he was contaminated by laid him to waste in ways gunshots never had. A full 30 pounds lighter than the moment he walked into the fated lab room, he's looking at a month of rehab before he can re-qualify. The illness destroyed his digestive system, and Michelle's cooking isn't lighting any fires there. But the Hanna family love restores just about everything else. Sam's girls dote on their Uncle G and seeing him so sick was sobering. They come home from school in the afternoons to do homework on the study floor, all the while nagging him for advice and assistance.

Hetty comes by the house to discuss tactics and equipment. Without a release from the doctor, as well as from Nate, G isn't allowed anywhere near actual work. Kensi stops past with soft pretzels and milkshakes. The real surprise has been Marty. G knows they've gotten closer over the past two years, but now Marty settles into the Hanna study and regales G with long ventures into the vicissitudes of police work, the stress of straddling his NCIS/LAPD role, the hazards of romancing Kensi. Marty seems to have decided G is the person to hear about the transition from one phase of life to another.  

G likes Marty more than he ever thought he would. Marty is a younger, much, much sillier version of G. A pain in the ass, for sure. But smart and observant. Genius with human nature. G's enjoying getting to know Marty better. Since Marty weathered torture for Michelle, Sam's adoption of Marty is only surpassed by his adoption of G. Sam pesters and teases the two younger men, but he also cares for them when they are not as careful with themselves.

G's recovery is not helped by the disintegration of his always tenuous relationship with Joelle. The day he breathed in the toxic virus G and Joelle were working through an uneasy detent. She balked at the kind of background check required for him to actually tell her who he is. And rightly so, yet... his exposure to deadly toxins was far beyond anything the second grade teacher wants in her life. Again, rightly so. The weird thing is G was so busy being someone else with her, he's unsure how he feels about the end of the relationship. If he can call it that. But, in the wake of the final conversation, he's left wondering what it's worth to have someone in his life. What can he sacrifice?

Like the invisible riptide, a soft voice telling him about the beach tows at his memory. The last thing he recalls from the virus mess is Nell's voice talking about sunrise. Last week the memory surfaced again in his mind's ear in Russian. Was she speaking Russian? He knows what she said. She said I see you. She said stay with me. She said the sun's light was palest pink, touching the cresting waves at dawn. She said the smell of salt in the wind was as fresh as waking up. When she asked him to stay with her, he knows what he said, too. Wish I could. He's honest enough with himself to admit her words, her voice, carried him through that particular hell, and carries him through it still. When he starts running again he goes to the beach at dawn. Lifting weights in rehab, it's her vision of the ebbtide he sees.

~o~

"He's in the gym." Eric sets a cup of tea beside Nell's mouse. He throws himself in the swivel chair with obvious delight. "Downstairs. Right now. What're you gonna do?"

Nell purses her lips and arches a brow at him over narrowed eyes. "Wouldn't you just love to know?" She quips.

"I would." He says. "I really would."

Nell leans towards him conspiratorially. "Well, I'm going to see how fast I can decrypt this. I advise you to do the same."

Eric waves off her teasing. "Seriously. How is this not killing you?"

"Probably because you're killing me."

Before Eric can make a rejoinder, text scrolls across the bottom of the plasma screen. Something's happening on the docks and they both snap to attention. Twenty minutes later, Marty and Sam take off for the docks, while Kensi and Granger head out to locate and question a marine. Eric's got cctv coverage of most of the route to the docks and stays with Sam and Marty, while Nell sifts through background information on the marine and feeds pertinent information to Kensi and Granger. The afternoon unspools busily from there without serious incident.

Though she's plenty absorbed in work, Nell hears the rumble of Callen's voice downstairs several times, apparently talking to Hetty. He was bound to turn up sooner or later, she reminds herself. Two months respite from him after the shock will simply have to be enough. Back to routine any day now.

The team rolls back into OSP with a suspect. The action shifts to the boathouse. Guessing Callen is sitting at his desk, Nell routes video from the boathouse to his desktop screen in case he'd like to watch the interrogation. As far as she knows he’s not cleared to come back to work, so it's not entirely by the books. Eric clicks his tongue next to her. "So that's your approach?" He mutters. She pokes him in the ribs. An hour and an arrest later, the team makes a half-hearted beginning with paperwork, talking loudly about beer.

"Hey, Nell?" Callen's at the top of the stairs. Both Nell and Eric turn. "Thanks for the peek."

She lifts a shoulder with a smile. Eric hops up and passes Callen on the stairs without comment. It's everything Nell can do to resist throwing a pen at Eric’s quickly receding back. Allowing Eric to pass, Callen steps into Tech Ops.

"Coming for a beer?" Callen asks.

Nell had been planning to hit the shooting range after work. Divining an invitation somewhere in his question, she changes her plans. "I am. Yeah. You?"

He nods. "Yeah. Listen. Thank you for the other day." The air between them takes on weight and stills. Callen takes another step into the room. "That was... made a difference. Thanks." His eyes are intent, stormy blue, very familiar, strangely vulnerable.

"I couldn't help it." She says. He cocks his head. She continues. "I guess we neither of us knew there was an antidote. You were amazing. You didn't hesitate to seal the door." A mix of expressions crosses his face and she can't read them all. She does read regret. "Are you okay?" She asks.

"Didn't really have a choice on that one. I appreciate your talking to me, though."

"I hated you were alone." She says.

Callen's smile widens slowly. "You were good company." He nods toward the stairs. "We should go, huh?"

"I'll be there. I need to shut this down." Nell tears her eyes from him and makes herself turn back to her workstation. She begins the process of shutting the systems down, conscious he's standing there behind her.

~o~

Callen feels almost human again sitting at the table listening to his friends and family bicker, argue, joke, support, respect and cherish one another. In the back of his mind is her voice, she said she hated he was alone. The loneliness of that moment does haunt him, echos his life. Reminds him how precious the connections he has are now.

Nell's watching him with interest. He wonders if it's happened before and he didn't notice. No, he'd notice. He'd notice because her gaze penetrates and sifts. Her eyes make him aware how well she knows him. This isn't something he's thought about much. It's her job to know him. She builds his legends. Her ability to infuse his legends with odd facts from his life makes her legends easier to live, underscoring how well she knows him. He can't recall her ever asking him anything, so she must've figured him out by researching his files, and he suspects from observation. Now he thinks about it, she must have a near eidetic memory - he can't remember her ever forgetting anything.

Nell sits across the table from Callen, between Sam and Marty. She has fun. Easy comebacks and gentle teasing. She's also somewhat opaque, talking about everyone and everything except herself. Kensi's in the middle of a story about the time she and Marty found Monty. Marty is attempting to edit while Sam heckles. Nell and Callen are the audience for this, though they were there. Callen laughs, sips beer. He falls into an easy conversation with Sam about the relative merits of installing a gas grill in the Hanna backyard.

When he looks up, she's gone.

~o~

Callen comes in with Sam in the mornings and heads to the gym. An hour of cardio, half hour of stretching, an hour of reading, then he starts over. Two cycles before lunch with either Sam or Marty. Unhappy with Callen's psych evaluation, Nate has him scheduled for therapy every day at 2.00. They walk along Venice Beach near Nate's office, mostly not talking. They've known each other a long time and Nate can tell a lot from just walking. Every now and then he asks a question.

Day three of this and Callen describes his thoughts the moment of the accident. The grip of regret, of so much he hasn't done, of what he knows he'll miss. The sadness is in his face, though he doesn't express it. Day four he mentions Joelle. Day five they're back to silence, and day six Callen argues it must be normal to have regrets before dying. God knows it's normal for him to screw up a romance. This isn't his first go round with any of it. "Agreed." Nate says. "You gonna tell me what's different this time?" Day seven Callen tells Nate about Nell. When they get back to the office Nate signs off on Callen's psych evaluation.

Driving back to the Hanna house Callen taps up Nell's phone.

"Callen?"

"Why d'you switch to Russian?"

"I... Uh, you read it for pleasure. It was your first language. I'm not sure. It just happened."

"I've been thinking about it a lot."

"Yeah, me too."

"I was just talking to Nate about all that. And, I should thank you again for staying with me."

"You're welcome. Did he sign you off?"

"Yeah, he did."

"That's good. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

~o~

Nell comes upstairs from the firing range and finds Callen at his desk. "Hey. You're here late." She didn't know he'd come back this afternoon, and she glances around for Sam. The office is empty, though and her gaze comes back to Callen.

"Not really. I came by to see you. You were downstairs, so I waited."

"To see me?" She can't believe she repeats him. She presses her lips together firmly to forestall any additional babbling.

"Yeah, I'm hoping... do you have time for a cup of coffee?" He gets to his feet.

There it is again, an invitation beyond the words. "I can." She says. In truth, she's starving. "Yes. Where were you thinking?"

"There's Starbucks at the corner."

She nods. "Meet you there?"

"Sure, or we can just walk over and back." He says.

"Okay, yes. I'll put my stuff in my car."

"I'll help you lock up." Closing up OSP is a bit of a chore. They split up to do the manual check on the doors Hetty requires. Nell presses in the pin for the security system.

It's a warm evening, the late summer sun hangs on the ocean, casting orange and pink light across a cloudless sky. Nell locks her bags in the trunk of her car. Callen's Mercedes is parked next to her Mini-Cooper. They fall into step, heading to the corner.

"So here's the thing." Callen says. "Since the accident I have your voice in my head. I'm not sure what to do about that. Or if I need to do anything about it. But, I thought maybe if we had a conversation, it would jog loose."

"Like a homeopathic remedy?" She smiles. "I don't make any guarantees more is better."

"I'm not sure I'm looking for a remedy. I kinda like it. Nate thinks it's a touch of PTSD, and might become a trigger, though. So..." He waves a hand dismissively.

Nell stops walking. "That would be horrible."

Callen turns back to her. "No..."

"I'm so sorry." She says. Callen grips her arm and she looks up, golden maple hazel eyes large.

"Whoa." He meets her gaze, locking on her eyes. "No, no, no. I don't mean..."

"The last thing I want in the world is you to associate me with dying." A crush of regret swamps through her. She turns away.

"I don't." He asserts.

The turmoil she's ignored for two months churns up. The image of him on the floor she hasn't been able to shake rises with it. "I shouldn't have..." She starts, stops, shakes her head. "This is hard for me. I can still see you..." She trails off. "I don't know if I can..." She tries to focus on the pavement, root to the present.

Callen's feet come into view, he's walked around to face her. His hand comes to her chin and lifts her face to see her eyes. He's very close. "Hey. Hang on. Listen." His ice blue stare pierces. "You okay?"

She shakes her head, no, not okay. "I'm fine." She says. "I just don't think I can talk to you about this one thing. I'm pretty sure I can't help."

He pulls back, no longer touching her face or arm. He looks at her long and hard. "I didn't know it was that bad for you."

"It was horrid." The admission lifts from her. "You were dying and I couldn't get to you."

"There wasn't anything you could’ve done other than what you did."

"I could have told you..." Having come this far she risks everything. "You're beautiful. I thought one day we'd be together even just for a moment and it hurt to have the chance slip away. And you're not alone." The raw notes in her voice match what he hears in his mind. "So, you see." She takes a deep breath, voice once more steady. "I've got my own shit to deal with around the accident. Not very helpful." She smoothes the skirt of her dress with both hands in a familiar gesture. "I should probably go home. I'm sorry I can't be of more use on this." With a fleeting glance up, she steps to the side.

"Can I kiss you?" He says, the invitation haunting his words.

She's pinned in his gaze. Frying pan, fire, she thinks. She nods. He takes the step that brings him to her and his mouth touches hers, hesitates, then presses. His hand returns to her arm, his other hand coming to her waist. His tongue swipes her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open under his. He takes the kiss deeper, the hand at her waist moving to span her ribs, pulling her against him. He tastes of tea, with a hint of curiosity. She kisses him back, sinking into the embrace, fingers splayed on his chest, snatching this moment as it's offered. Holding him is as satisfying as she imagines, the more so for being real. She sighs into his mouth. He pulls back an inch, his eyes half closed, pupils blown open. They both take a breath. Nell lowers from her toes, Callen's grip on her subsides.

She swallows, mouth still hot from his. She meets his gaze. "You're with someone, and I..."

"I am not." He says. "Not since the accident."

"Oh."

"If we don't talk about it, can we have coffee?"

"I'm starving. Can we have dinner?"

They walk back to OSP, silence easy between them. Over dinner they discuss Russian literature, and how Nell learned Russian during college as an exchange student in St. Petersburg. They talk about the Black Sea and the Pacific. They talk about Marty, speculating on whether he'll ever join NCIS. Nell guesses he won't because it would nix his romance with Kensi which Callen hadn't considered. Their conversation lasts through desert and the ride back to OSP, where Callen drops Nell at her car after securing a date for dinner tomorrow night.

Nell's mind fizzes with revelation while she drives home. Not so much of a fizz she doesn't notice Callen following. She considers calling and asking him what he's doing. She catches him occasionally in the rear view, the knowledge he's there warming the pit of her belly. At her apartment, she climbs from her car and leans on it looking back at him. She gets out her phone and texts him. ‘Well, are you coming in?’ He cuts off the engine and climbs out, smiling.

"Come on. I have a bottle of white wine I've been waiting to break open." He follows her up the stairs.

They sit on the floor, bottle of wine on the coffee table. She keeps family pictures under the table's glass and she identifies everyone for him. She asks about foster care and they trade stories. She wonders why he never stayed with a family and he talks about needing to find his father.

Hours later she crawls over his legs to kiss him. The kiss spins out into fiery desire. She quests over him with hands and mouth, savoring him. His hands are strong and demanding as she peels off clothing and he touches her with hot worshipful fingers, taking in her curves, raking over silky skin alive with pleasure. She's still counting kisses, they are at seven, when his clever fingers find the tender folds of her core, sliding in to caress the swollen flesh. She arches into his touch, gasping, the kiss an unfinished effort. Reaching to the end table, she fumbles for a condom. She skates her hand across his belly and grips him.

"May I?" She flips the cellophane wrapper between them. She takes his answering grin for yes, and tears open the wrapper with one hand and her teeth. She rolls the condom over him, her fingers measuring the weight and contours of his erection, teasing a groan from him. She guides him to her core, and the first thrust is long, full up into her, she quivers around him, so full, the rush of orgasm bubbling up. Her knees come to grip his sides, she rocks him into her and they find a rhythm, older than time. Fire ratchets through her again, breath short, teeth in his shoulder. He powers into her, chases up with her, coming with a shout of pleasure that rocks back through her and melts her bones.

He kisses her mouth, chin, jaw, neck. She runs her hands up his back, sinking her fingers into his shoulders. "So good." She whispers. He hums an answer she can't decipher. She chuckles. He chuffs warm air against her neck. "Stay with me." She says, her voice raw and low.

"Yeah." He rumbles near her ear. He looks up then, focuses. "Yes. A hundred times, yes."


End file.
